


Never Too Late

by Melimelo



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wish Realm, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Getting Together, Happy Ending, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Medieval setting I suppose, Mutual Pining, Now he's still jealous and hurt and childlish, Past Bad Decisions, Past Character Death, Past Child Death, Past Teen Pregnancy, Past Underage Sex, Past Wendy Darling/OMC, Peter Pan left because he was jealous and hurt and childlish, Peter Pan | Malcolm is not Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold's Parent, Possessive Peter Pan | Malcolm, Protective Peter Pan | Malcolm, Romance, Sexist Society, Wish Realm (OUAT) Universe inspired, but he's back, to be more precise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28364016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melimelo/pseuds/Melimelo
Summary: "He's back! Peter Pan is back!"The entire town was whispering about it, and Wendy's breath caught in her throat. Back. After all those years.She swiftly made her decision, then, perhaps as swiftly as he had, when he had left the town, left her, to go god-knew-where, to do god-knew-what. And now he was back. She barely spared a thought to be thankful she hadn't happened on him, at the turn of a road, before she gulped, feeling her face warm and her heart beat a saccato within her chest.She turned around, and ran.--Or years ago, Peter left when Wendy announced her upcoming wedding with the mayor's son and the baby that would be born in seven months. Now, her life is a disaster, but he's back.
Relationships: Wendy Darling/Peter Pan | Malcolm
Kudos: 16





	Never Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what's gotten into me but I want to write darling pan fics, and have lots of inspiration to, so here's a new fic...
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! :)

"He's back! Peter Pan is back!"

The entire town was whispering about it, and Wendy's breath caught in her throat. Back. After all those years.

Back.

She swiftly made her decision, then, perhaps as swiftly as he had, when he had left town, _left her_ , to go god-knew-where, to do god-knew-what. And now he was back. She barely spared a thought to be thankful she hadn't happened on him, at the turn of a road, before she gulped, feeling her face warm and her heart beat a staccato within her chest.

Turned around, and ran. Back to her small room, where he had no chance of seeing her, and she had no chance of seeing him. Already, her eyes began to burn, the unpleasant sensation spreading down to her chest as she rushed home.

People parted before her just the same as they always did, almost jumping away before she could have the slightest chance of brushing against theirs skirts or canes. It had been three years since Peter had left, it had been three years since the townsfolk acted like her very presence barely missed each time to rub her disgrace on them.

Only once she sagged against her door, having closed it securely between her and the outside world, did she allow herself to sob freely. Did she allow the shock from finally coursing in her veins at hearing the news.

Her legs shook, not knowing if she wanted to dance and jump at the news, or go hiding. Peter was back, and Wendy was pulled between two wildly different reactions.

It almost made her sob anew at the change. Peter had been her dear friend, they had known each other since they were children. The problem- the problem was…

Well, as much as Wendy wished to rejoice of his return, she was also well-aware it might not be reciprocated, and it held her back. Peter had been _the first one_ , as well. The first one to know, and the first one to leave her. Literally so, in his case, which had hurt a hundred times more than when the entire town, men, women and children, elders and infants, had turned their backs on her. Moreover, the entire town hadn’t been her childhood friend. As much as she cared about their opinions of her, too much Peter always said, it had been nothing compared to how high she had valued his opinion, and his friendship.

And now he was back. Oh, she could barely believe it! Why? When? For how long? Had he- had he forgotten her altogether?

He had scarcely written to Tinkerbell – his cousin, who was also the reason Wendy had found herself not sleeping in the streets and begging with a newborn infant at her breast, who had been more kind and more generous than anyone else and who had become, in the past three years, Wendy’s closest and only friend. And, when he had, he had certainly never mentioned her at all. Wendy had asked, for the first few letters, and then had stopped, when Tinkerbell’s answer had remained the same, and her face had turned more and more embarrassed. When it had hurt too much to hear.

It had been silly of her to hope for it. This too, wasn’t it?

She and Peter had been childhood friends, but childhood friends grow up, it was the way of things. They grow up, and one day they realize even the memories of child’s plays are not enough to rest a long-lasting friendship on.

Now, Wendy would soon turn nineteen years old, and her childhood had ceased a long time ago. Three years and two months ago, if she wanted to be precise, though she didn’t like thinking of that night in a bad way.

It had been a beautiful night, a late summer one, and Wendy’s third occasion to attend a real party. She had dragged Peter to her first two, but this one had been different, with him complaining so earnestly she had taken pity on him, and had given him his evening back. As it turned out, attending a party – though it had been a small ball, truly – without Peter had been wildly different, and Wendy had felt bored for the most part of the first hour.

It had been before Edward had come to her, and invited her to a dance, though.

Edward was the mayor’s son, and had been a couple of years older than her, nineteen or twenty. Handsome, with black hair pulled away from his face and a small mustache under his nose, smirking lips and a well-knotted tie. His face had lost most traces of boyhood and his fingernails had been clean. As they had whirled and waltzed in the middle of the clearing, everybody had been gazing at them admiringly and Wendy had felt like a woman, beautiful and envied. It had been thrilling. The looks of the others combined with Edward’s attentions thorough the night had made her head spin.

He had invited her to dance all the dances, never complaining once that dancing was for girls, had complimented her hair and her dress, had made small-talk and had even sneaked her a glass or two of wine.

Somehow, it had tasted better than when it had been Peter putting the glass in her hands out of the prying eyes, though Wendy figured it had been the exact same drink.

But Edward had been different, and dancing with him had felt different and so, before Wendy truly knew what was happening, they had wandered away from the crowd and he had bent down to lay a kiss on her lips.

It had been her first kiss, her first real kiss – the one she had stolen from Peter when they had been seven or eight years old not counting, of course. It had been a game, with Peter. It hadn’t, with Edward. It had felt real, grounding and at the same time head-spinning, and Wendy still thought back upon it with a flutter in her stomach, despite the painful twist the memory now brought in her heart. His hands had felt warm and large on her waist, and he had murmured such sweet nothings in her ear that she had found herself unable not to follow him.

He had led her to a nearby barn and had laid her on freshly chopped straw, never stopping kissing her, everywhere, and murmuring how pretty she was and how long he had noticed her as her heart soared and soared in her chest from all the sweet words. He had promised her he loved her and she had let herself be seduced.

Willingly.

Silly that she had been.

She hadn’t felt silly, at the time. Hesitant, at first, for sure. Even with her head upon clouds from his kisses and perhaps the wine as well, her education hadn’t been forgotten with a snap of the fingers. But he had renewed his promise of love, had sworn genuineness and she had believed him. Why would she not?

Sometimes, when she thought back on what happened, Wendy could admit to herself that a part of her had wanted to, as well. Had been curious, and thrilled, to have a boy wanting to chase the forbidden with her. So she had nodded, her heart in her mouth and her hands trembling.

It had hurt, as she remembered her mother had told her it would, and at the end, when he had fallen asleep on top of her, she had more wanted to cry than to gaze at him adoringly as she had thought she would.

A trail of blood had dropped along the inside of her thigh but, except for this particular thing that she quickly dabbed away, nothing proved that night had ended this particular way.

Until more than a month later. If she had thoroughly taken count of those things, Wendy would have worried she didn’t bleed two weeks after that night at the barn, when she should have. Instead, she hadn’t noticed the absence of blood until the second month came in and it still didn’t came.

Pregnant. She had known, then, as soon as she had noticed. It had been her first time, and only time, and it hadn’t supposed to work, the first time, but somehow it did. Somehow, she had found herself with child while not being married yet.

A lump had grown in her throat at the idea of telling her father so. And Mother. And John and Michael. And Peter.

She needed to tell Edward first. They needed to get married by the end of the week to save appearances, when that baby – her baby, their baby – would be born. Wendy had heard of infants, born seven or even six months after their parents’ wedding, who looked as healthy as full-term babies, or even more. People smiled secretly, but they didn’t say anything, and everyone went back to their lives.

The thought of a hurried wedding, in the middle of winter, and without a carefully sewn dress to wear on top, had saddened her immensely, but Wendy had willed herself to be more practical. Reasonable. She was a woman now, a fully grown one, and soon she would be a wife and a mother, just like her mother was. Her dream wedding had been one of a little girl.

She had walked to Edward’s house, her shawl tightened around herself and a strange weight in her ankles. It had been snowing, and Edward had looked surprised to see her here. She thought his face had paled when she had explained everything to him, her hands clammy despite the biting cold, and her tongue dry.

He, on the other hand, had said nothing at all. Merely gazing soulfully at her before adverting his gaze and shuffling on his feet, looking as if he wanted to close the door and leave her outside without saying or doing anything.

Then, after what felt like an eternity if she had any idea what eternity felt like, once her eyes had begun to narrow and her mouth to open with the first tendrils of offense at his lack of reaction over the especially dire situation they were currently facing, he had taken a sharp breath and muttered something.

“Ah,” he had said, his voice flat and cold-blooded. “I see.”

He hadn’t said anything else, and Wendy had chided herself as she had walked back home. It had been the shock, she had thought. Edward simply didn’t react swiftly when faced with shocking and unexpected news. She could understand this – she could and would even work with this: after all, before being dragged in more of Peter’s extravagant ideas than was reasonable during her whole life, she had found herself the one not knowing what to say, or do, in front of a mind-boggling situation. And she still did, sometimes. It was fine.

She had been wrong, of course. Too naïve and too trustful. Like a child, Wendy thought, though her inner voice sounded nothing like the acrid and mean-spirited word every townsfolk had spat at her, as if it had been the greatest insult of all times. Conversely, a pang made her heart ache with longing and sympathy, for this girl she had been, not even sixteen, who had believed in a boy’s promises and apparent righteousness.

But, for a week or so, she had fully, wholeheartedly believed Edward would come knock at her door, one afternoon, and ask to speak privately with her father. They would get married, and she would become Mrs Edward Lockridge, and the little one in her belly would grow up in a loving family.

She waited, and he didn’t come. Her sixteenth birthday passed, Peter left, and Edward didn’t come. Her heart broke, but still she kept on waiting, clinging on a last hope.

As time passed, however, her belly started to grow and, within a few months, it became impossible to keep on hiding it from her parents. Or from the entire town.

Soon, Father and Mother noticed, and Wendy learnt what it felt like, to gaze into her parents’ eyes and see disappointment and hurt. Betrayal. The town noticed as well, and children Wendy used to watch after were now forbidden to come near her by their parents, old ladies she used to mend clothes for turned their gaze away and their chin high when they passed her on the street. Girls who had gazed at her with envy that night at the ball now sneered and mocked her for all to see. Then, it appeared Edward had revealed details about their encounter at the barn, in the rudest way, but, instead of gaining the sympathy of everyone else, Wendy found herself blamed as well.

A sure thing. Easy. Slut. Whore.

“I have no way of knowing for sure I’m the father,” Edward had claimed. “Who says it’s not that Peter Pan, who she always trailed after, and who left a couple of months ago? If she even knows who the father is, then you can all be sure it’s him, and she’s only after my money.” It wasn’t true, of course, but no one believed her. And Wendy didn’t want to reveal the real reason Peter had left without looking back, that night. It was no one’s business, and a private matter Peter had shared with her only, and she wouldn’t scream it on top of roofs to try and change the minds of people who seemed so keen to blame her anyway.

It had become so unbearable, and particularly for Mother and her little brother, Michael, that Wendy decided to leave her childhood home, gathering every economy to pay herself a room at the inn. Granny had eyed her disapprovingly, but Wendy had swallowed back her denial, her offense and her pride, and had promised she wouldn’t do any “unholy business in one of the room”.

She foolishly thought that once the baby came into the world, the hateful words and hateful looks would abate, but exactly the opposite happened. Every time Wendy took a step out of her room, her daughter Jane in her arms, the hateful looks and words would double. Half of them thrown at her, and the other at her daughter.

Money had ended up being tight, and Granny had sent her away in the middle of autumn, when Jane had been around three months old. As Wendy had truly thought the end was near, and that she’d better leave the town altogether and pretend her husband had died tragically in a town far enough from this one no one would, Tinkerbell had happened on her one evening, and had taken her under her wing.

Tinkerbell had been Peter’s older cousin, and so someone Wendy had known for almost her entire life. She had come back to town a couple of weeks ago, after having left to join a convent, according to the wish of Peter’s parents. Peter’s parents had died around Jane’s birth, both taken away by an illness, and Tinkerbell had returned, relieved by the news. No one in the town – not even Wendy – had particularly cared for Mr. and Mrs. Pan, the father enjoying more his wine and the mother worrying about her decaying youth than their only son, or the cousin who had found herself orphaned at a young age.

They had certainly never enquired about Wendy’s health, even as the entire town was wrongly convinced her daughter was their granddaughter, not worried one bit about their son’s disappearance, or searched for him.

Tinkerbell had been different, however. Tinkerbell had taken one look at her, and at Jane, as Wendy readied herself to spend a night outside, and had offered her a room.

It wasn’t much, the room coming closer to the one she had at Granny – the smallest, cheapest one – than the one she had at her parents’ house, but it was perfect, nonetheless.

Since that evening, she and the other woman had had each other’s backs, in the happiest as well as the most tragic moments those past years had thrown their ways. In Tinkerbell’s offer to become a teacher at the town’s school, something she had dreamt about since she had been a little girl, as well as that morning when Wendy had woken up only to see her daughter, her sweet, kind, innocent daughter had died during the night from the fever they had all caught, that winter.

The weeks that had followed had been the worst in Wendy’s life. She had blamed herself for falling asleep, that night, instead of watching over her daughter, and perhaps even sleeping as the poor dear felt herself die in the middle of the night, frightened and with a slumbering mother kneeling by the bed instead of comforting her, or telling her favorite story, or singing her a lullaby, or calling for the doctor, or tucking her tighter to warm her up, or fetching fresher ice cubes to press against her forehead, or doing something.

Anything.

But Wendy hadn’t. She had fallen asleep, and her baby had been taken away from her, for the rest of her life.

Only Tinkerbell and Father William had attended the burial, thankfully, for the words didn’t stop or abate because of the tragedy. No, on the contrary, on top of calling her an easy girl and a whore, Wendy was then dubbed a horrible mother, as only Harry Rawford had succumbed to the fever that year. And Harry had looked sick already, and had only been a couple of days old, not a bit more than eighteen months old like Jane.

“It must say something of her poor care,” the other mothers had said, ignoring Wendy’s red eyes. “Her bastard had been healthier than poor Carolina’s boy. But this year’s fever has been a mild one. Truly, there must be something else.”

Perhaps there was. Her failure still haunted Wendy to this day, and would continue to for the rest of her life.

So much had happened while Peter was gone, and now he was back and with him, it felt to Wendy as if a part of her childhood had came back as well. This night, for the first time in forever, she fell asleep with a lighter heart.

This weightlessness of her heart, this small smile on her lips, this sweet aching in her heart, she decided to protect them. Should she see or talk to Peter, life had taught her it had more chance of crumbling to her feet than remaining intact, and so Wendy strived to avoid him at all cost for the following days, and keep her sweet memories safe. She didn’t want to see her childhood friend turn on her as explicitly as everyone had. Peter hadn’t written; she got the hint by herself.

Thankfully, Tinkerbell didn’t meet up with him in her house, and merely huffed when she came back from the first one she had arranged. “He’s found himself a frenzy, if you can believe that,” was all she had declared, and Wendy hadn’t known how to understand it.

Unfortunately, however, the town’s curiosity at seeing a long-gone boy come back dwelled more quickly than Wendy expected, and so the intrigued whispers that informed her of Peter’s presence around soon disappeared.

It didn’t encourage Wendy in going outside, even though his reappearance also meant less people paid her any mind when she walked on the streets or bought her loaf of bread or her vegetables. As Tink told her, she couldn’t stay hold up in her room as long as Peter would be in town. So this morning, Wendy gathered the dress she had been working on and walked to the baker’s shop.

This was the only way she had found to earn a living, buy Jane a doll and frills when she had been alive, as well as pay back Tinkerbell’s generosity in something that wasn’t quickly-eaten biscuits. She would mend, fit, sew or adorn clothes for the townsfolk whose busy timetables didn’t leave them with enough spare time or strength. A couple of coins here, a chicken there allowed her to live, despite having no husband and no parents to her. It wasn’t much, and was even nothing compared to the dreams she had, when she had been younger, but Wendy had no more tears to spend, and certainly not on herself. It was enough, and she was grateful.

The man mumbled his thanks when she put the newly frilled and embroidered dress on his counter and handed her the payment. Wendy was about to do the same, already taking a step backward, when she looked down at her palm, and her smile faltered.

“Sir? We said three.” She opened her palm, her voice strained, showing him his oversight. The dress had been an urgent work, to be done in two days as the man had forgotten his wife’s birthday, and so they had agreed on three coins, instead of the usual two for a week time. Besides, she thought to use the spare for flowers to put on Jane’s tomb, as it would be a year since her baby had died. She refused to let herself be deterred. “For the urgency, you-”

“Two is more than enough for a couple of frigging flowers,” the man grumbled, before his eyes flashed and narrowed at her when Wendy tried to explain and demand her other. “I’m no fool, nor to be swayed by your charms,” he barked, waving a menacing finger at her. The reprimand, however, didn’t stick as deep as it used to. “Go away girl, before I change my mind and give you a kick in the arse instead of the two you already got.”

Taking a deep breath to give herself courage, Wendy felt her nails bit in the skin of her palm as a muscle clenched near her jaw. “Sir, I-”

But the man apparently had enough of her defiance, and walked around his counter, mumbling under his beard about annoying little girls who didn’t. Wendy stumbled backward, her protest dying in her throat, despite the flare of anger still present in her chest. The baker wasn’t particularly taller than her, but he was brawny, used to fistfights at the tavern, and Wendy knew she looked like a sickly bird next to him.

It was fine. She raised her hands in a placating gesture, barely noticing one of the coins falling to the ground and babbled an apology while still trying to explain her reasoning.

“I don’t give a shit, I said!” the man bellowed, some spit flying from his mouth, his hand coming to her shoulder and, with a single push, he sent her almost flying outside, barely managing to not trip on the couple of steps leading to his shop and fall on the muddy ground. Behind her, burning on her back, Wendy felt his outburst had attracted every passersby’s attention on them, and she struggled not to let anything show. “When one’s used to spread her legs to the first comer, one knows when to obey and shut her mouth!”

\--==--

At first, he wasn’t going to intervene.

It felt right, it felt fair to see Wendy Darling humiliated in front of everybody. In front of those very same people whose opinion she used to care about so much. She, who had humiliated him in front of the only person he used to care about in the entire world.

Right, fair. Well-deserved even.

Where is your prince charming, now? Peter had wanted to shout at her, snap and spit and claw. Where is dear old Edward Lockridge when you need him?

She would have looked at him, then, and perhaps felt sorry.

But then he had seen her hunched shoulders, her glistening eyes and her cowered body and, instead of the thrill of victory thrumming in his veins and the most satisfying smirk curling on his face, his stomach had twisted sharply.

Wendy Darling was a lot of things. A girl, self-righteous, stubborn and a heartbreaker – all of these were true. But she wasn’t a whore, and that old man had no right to talk to her this way.

Not that he hadn’t thought it himself, when the bitterness and resentment had been at its peak, years ago, aching and burning and creating more images than he ever wanted to see of her and that condescending little prick, together.

But to hear it spat aloud, by a voice who had no right at all to, undenied by anyone – not even her – sent a rush of rage into his body. In the blink of an eye, he had crossed the distance – while he had sworn to himself he wouldn’t let her see him, let her affect him – and had wrapped his hand around the old man’s throat.

Even years after, Wendy Darling managed to make him weak for everybody to see. Peter hated it. Hated that it still worked, that it took one second for him to rush to her help, despite everything she had _made him feel_.

And for what? She would leave, just like she did once.

His hand squeezed as he heard himself spit a warning, watching how the man’s eyes both widened and narrowed, in a strange mix of outrage and shock and fear that made his smirk widen. He barely heard the collective gasp the useless gathered crowd let out.

He felt like a brand her hand resting on his upper arm, and her softly gasped, “Peter.”

Weak, she turned him weak. And Peter loosened his hold slightly, just enough to allow the man to turn a lesser red, before he gritted between his teeth, “Don’t talk to her this way, or I’ll be the one to make you shut up and obey,” and wrenched his hand away.

He walked forward, not stopping or slowing down once, not turning around to see if she was following him – he didn’t care, didn’t care, didn’t care. He hated her. He hated the power she had over him. Most of all, he hated the power he didn’t have over her.

He shouldn’t have intervened – it wasn’t his business, she wasn’t his girl, she wasn’t his anything – she had made that more than clear. He shouldn’t have come here in the first place.

But Fox, Nibs and Curly had been curious to see where he had been born, when he had let it escape him.

Even more curious to see The Girl. All their eyes had gleamed at the mention of a girl he still remembered, those traitors.

And Peter had relented, thinking it would be fun to mess with the townsfolk – with Edward Lockridge – for a time before leaving and continue their travelling to another town. Another road, another abandoned cabin, until it turned boring and they left to seek fun elsewhere.

Now, though, he severely and already regretted it, and swore to himself he would make them all leave as soon as tonight if he-

“Goodness, Peter, wait a moment,” Wendy panted next to him, her hand wrapping around his arm while he tried not to lean into the touch like a baby kitten or something. “You walk too quickly for me, I can’t keep up.”

He used to be mindful of that, but what use did it have anymore? “Then stop following me around,” he retorted. “It’s not my problem if you can’t keep up.”

She sighed, and he still didn’t look at her. He didn’t want to look at her. He hadn’t missed her. He had only stopped walking because he didn’t want to drag her along, him. “I… I wanted to thank you. For helping me, just now.” He nodded curtly, just once, wanting her to be gone and to stay a bit longer at the same time, while not wanting her to know it. Something must have passed on his face because she took her hand off him in a movement too abrupt to be natural. “You can’t blame me for that, Peter,” she said, igniting his own, well-deserved, sense of betrayal that remained dormant for the past three years or so. “That’s not fair.”

Fair! He scoffed, though it tasted worse than greens. Here she was, talking about fair! It was entirely fair for him to blame her, for breaking his heart, for playing him for years, for… for being so her and make him fall in love with her and make him humiliate himself before her and then disregard him as if he had never mattered! And then she got to live on her merry life, while he was left to figure out how to piece back a heart feeling like it had been squeezed to dust by a malicious hand that he had believed would never be malicious!

And didn’t she… didn’t she have a husband and kid to go play house with, at the moment?

So why was it so hard to just tell her to go away?

“Don’t waste your pretty words, Bird,” he bit back, not even realizing the nickname had escaped him, nor that it turned harder to keep his eyes off her by the second. She needed to leave, and he needed to strike hard. “I was just looking for a fight.” He gave a half-shrug. “It’s not like I don’t think he’s right.”

Just for a fleet second, then, he surrendered, and his eyes darted to her face just in time to see hurt flashing across it. Her eyes were glistening but unwavering, staring right back, and her bottom lip pouted slightly in the way it did when she was displeased with something.

It didn’t feel as good as he had thought it would, but Peter still relished in the vindication.

Yet she didn’t leave. The Wendy he remembered would have sobbed, kicked her foot on the ground and then ran away to him, or an adult, for them to take care of the problem – him with his fists and kicks, even when he hadn’t been older than six or seven, the adults by talking. This one didn’t move a flinch. This one had a voice that almost sent chills down his back and made his stomach churn when she said, “That was mean,” as if she were talking about the weather.

When seeing a Wendy running to him, her cheeks red and wet from cries and loudly complaining about whoever had been mean – to her, to a stray kitten or a broken-wing bird, it didn’t really matter – had never failed to make him see red and barrel forward to avenge her, seeing this one left a bad taste in his mouth, as well as the other things. It felt wrong, almost as if she was used to people being mean to her, and it didn’t warrant such an outraged response from her.

His first instinct was to ask who, who hurt you, who got you used to hearing insults thrown at you, who taught you not to fight back or ask for help, before he had to leash it down.

Not. His. Girl.

Not. His. Business.

She had a husband, now, to take care of everything like that, for her to go to. Despite himself, his gaze fell on her left hand, to see the ring, but thankfully her hands were hidden in the folds of her skirt. Safely out of sight, perhaps he could even pretend it didn’t exist. It would be nice, to pretend it didn’t exist.

So Peter pressed his lips together, and said nothing. She was still here, she hadn’t left, hadn’t _run back to her husband_. She was here, with him still, and the knowledge made him stand a bit straighter, his chin a bit higher at being chosen.

“It’s mean for you to be angry at me, even after all these years.”

And everything crumbled back into dust, with a single remark. His face lowered, his shoulders lifted, Peter murmured, “You’re the one who played me.”

“I didn’t!” The cry made his eyes snap back to her face, and he took a step closer, all his reserves forgotten at the nerve of her. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course you did.” It had been obvious. That’s what had made it so humiliating, Peter figured. How obvious it had been, how sure he had felt, only to have it splash back on his face without having been warned. He swallowed past the ugly memory, fighting back the urge to leave town this time too.

“I really didn’t.” Her shoulders sagged, then, and something in her eyes softened. For a split second, Peter thought they were back on that evening, when he had visibly pulled his heart for her to have and she had turned it down while pretending to be surprised at the turn of event. “I can’t read your mind, you know.”

“Don’t play me, darling.” He shouldn’t call her that. It wasn’t her name anymore, the wordplay didn’t work anymore. “It was- it was so obvious it was disgusting. There’s no need to play coy anymore, I got the hint by myself.”

“It wasn’t obvious, Peter. Truly. I had no idea you… used to feel this way.” He almost scoffed. How nicely put.

But he didn’t believe her. “That’s impossible,” he said, interrupting what she was about to say, his voice turning harsher as hers had turned softer. He hadn’t wanted to do this, to talk back about his feelings, yet the rest spilled past his lips as if they had a will of their own and an irrepressible desire to see the outside. “I kept on telling you-”

“You never told me anything!”

“-I spent afternoons with you. I carried your bag between classes, and from the market to your house. I took you for horse rides every time you wanted, I taught you how to ride. I came with you to the balls!”

Her brows furrowed. “But you… you used to say you hated it. You complained about every dance, you looked bored for every minute of it.”

Yes. That was exactly his point. He may not have told her the words before she turned sixteen – mostly because he had been sixteen at the time as well, that he had found Mr. Darling slightly intimidating and that he wanted to do things right and have neither of her family members hate him – but it had been obvious to see to any onlooker. It had even made him cringe, while he had been away and remembering how earnestly he had behaved.

“Because those things are boring. But I still went with you, I still danced with you and stayed with you ‘till you wanted to leave.” Truly, no one had ever held any doubt that Wendy Darling had been his. “Not that it matters anymore,” he added under his breath, frowning when it looked like she had caught on his words and her face appeared sad, out of nowhere.

“Yet you didn’t write,” she remarked, looking down. “For all those years, you never even asked about me.”

He hadn’t. A knife to the gut would have been less painful, thank you. “What would I had written about? Dear Wendy, long time no see, how’s married life faring for you? I myself am-”

“I’m not married.”

“-a- What?” Blinking once, his brain tried to make sense of her words but came up blank. What did she mean, not married. “What do you mean, not married? What about Lockridge’s…” offspring. His spawn. Peter waved a hand, “child?”

“Oh.” Wendy lips tugged into a smile, but her eyes remained sad. Suddenly, Peter wished he hadn’t asked. “She died. A little less than a year ago. I intended to get flowers, for her tomb, but…” She trailed off, patting her pocket. “I never got married. Actually, you’re the first one who appears to be bothered by it for my sake, so I suppose I should thank you for that as well.”

His lips twisted further. “Don’t say-”

“It’s fine. I’m… I’ll leave you to your things, then, Peter. I was happy to see you again.”

It felt like there was something she kept unsaid, but before Peter could muster the will to admit he was, too, she was already out of his reach.

\--==--

_“I love you.”_

_The entire speech disappeared when the three last words were spoken, though Wendy’s confusion for sure increased with them._

_Loved her… Peter?_

_What?_

_But… but… “You never seemed interested by any girl.”_

_No girl at all, she had checked. And he never cared for dancing, or for flirting, or for kissing. Nor for talks of wedding or homemaking, and she had thought…_

_He lifted one brow._

_Oh._

_A dozen of pebbles settled in Wendy’s stomach as she felt her face warm up slightly in embarrassment. Oh._

_Well that was… unexpected, and surprising, and really… unfortunate. “Oh Peter,” she sighed, her voice tinted with sadness despite her inner berating that she couldn’t feel sad at all. Still, she swallowed heavily, and looked down on her lap. There laid his present, pieces of paper, with a vial of black ink resting at her feet. For your book, he had told her, the one depicting your adventures, before he had begun to tell what they would do to fill them, the adventures they would go on, when they’d leave the village._

_It had been something the two of them had talked greatly about, but now everything was to be different. She wouldn’t leave with him. She couldn’t, not anymore._

_“What?” he demanded, not looking as if he even expected what had happened – how could he, it was still a secret, to everyone but she and Edward. “What is it?”_

_It revolted her, that her heart would squeeze so, or that she had to tell him in such circumstances – it was a date and a wedding she had wanted to announce to him, not the prospect of a hurried one, just after he had declared his feelings and his intention to, one day, marry her. She half-hoped even that it would be a prank he was trying to pull on her._

_“I can’t,” she still said. “I’m going to marry Edward, soon, Edward Lockridge.” She tried to smile, tried not to see the flash of betrayal lighting his eyes. It wasn’t a betrayal, she told herself, it was merely… too late. “I’m pregnant with his child.”_

_After that, not another word was exchanged, and Peter left hurriedly and without glancing back soon after. As she stood to watch him cross the streets back to his home through her window, Wendy allowed herself to regret for a moment – not the baby, never the baby. But, that had Peter’s declaration come a bit sooner, that she would have said yes, assuredly._

She had used to love him. How could one not? It would have been impossible not to. Peter was the kind of person who attracted eyes and attention, wherever he went. Hers, most of all, but he had returned the regard freely and as enthusiastically as she had. They were the same age, and had played together, had grown together. He had been her confident, the only one knowing about her wish to see the world and live exciting adventures, the only one sharing it, for him and for her as well. He had been kind, always holding her hand wherever they went, even when the older boys would mock him for it, and running to her defense every time she needed him.

Some things truly didn’t change, Wendy figured, her lips stretching into a smile despite herself as she recalled how he had taken her defense this very morning, even though he didn’t have any obligation to.

He had been all of those and even more, making her feel special compared to everyone else, always treating her best compared to the other children, teaching her how to be strong and brave and unapologetic, even though she still lacked in some respect.

But he had never seemed interested. In her, nor in any girls at all. He had never looked eager to grow up, marry and build a home with someone. Had never said anything. Why hadn’t he ever said anything, if he had loved her? His remark illuminated things in a different way, but it was too late, now.

And so she had moved on, looked elsewhere. Edward hadn’t been Peter, but it hadn’t felt as saddening as she would have thought it would. He had been older, more serious, more certain, with a calmness that was comforting, in a sense. Less flamboyant, sure, but perhaps it had turned him safer looking.

Of course, it had ended up the toughest mess of Wendy’s life – not the worst decision, no, for Jane could never be associated with anything remotely bad – and the biggest, most irreconcilable difference between them had launched. For Edward’s promises had been lies, and she had been deceived.

Now, whatever feelings had happened or not, with, for or from Peter, it was all in the past. Peter may have helped her, but his attitude when she had wanted to thank him – it had been too urgent for her to fight it. She had spent the last days trying to avoid him at all costs, but he had been in front of her, real for the first time in years, and she had hurried after him. That attitude had been more than clear.

He resented her, for not reading his mind or something else, it didn’t truly matter anymore. The more he would stay in town, hearing what other people would say about her, the more resentful he would grow, until he would truly hate her, just as she feared.

Wendy was pulled out of her thoughts when Tinkerbell shuffled to her and slammed her hand on the table where her elbows were resting on. “Here’s for you,” she said, “and please do tell my cousin I’m not his carrier pigeon, the next time you see him.” Tinkerbell turned away, her hand lifting and letting three gold coins appear.

“Wait, wait! What is this?” Pushing some wild strands away from her face, Tinkerbell sighed. Before she could answer, though, Wendy’s heart skipped a beat as her previous words unfolded in her mind. “Next time?” she stammered, warmth flushing to her face. “What do you mean? Did you talk to Peter today? Did he-” said anything about me? What was it?

Something kept her from asking those last two questions, however. Though, judging by Tinkerbell’s raised eyebrow – a trait she shared with her cousin but which Wendy had never mastered, no matter the afternoons she had spent practicing under Peter’s help – her friend had heard them anyway.

“I did. He came to see me and snuggled those coins to me, with the express order to give them to you, but not reveal it comes from him.” She lifted her eyes to the ceiling and snorted as Wendy’s lips twitched. Tinkerbell mustn’t have entirely appreciated the order to abide by it from start to end, though still held a soft-enough spot for her cousin that she did it half-way. “What do you need three golden coins for?”

Shuffling slightly on her seat, Wendy told her in broad strokes what had happened this morning, with the baker, watching how Tinkerbell’s face darkened. “That’s very nice of Peter, however,” she resumed, looking at the money. “I wonder what sort of work he does.” She hadn’t seen his hands up close, but surely it must be a manual one, for Peter had always revolted at the idea of sitting behind a desk all day. It must be a great part of his savings. No, it was kind, but she couldn’t accept.

“They’re stolen,” Tinkerbell pointed out, sounding so certain Wendy’s eyes lost their initial frown.

“What do you mean?”

“That’s what they do. Haven’t you heard?” To be fair, Wendy hadn’t tried to overhear much more once she had caught on Peter’s name being spoken, announcing his presence near. Now, though, she found herself disappointed she didn’t ask more about his whereabouts here. Where did he live? How long did he plan on staying? What did he plan on doing? If he wanted to help her, like the coins were hinting at, then perhaps it meant things weren’t as bad as Wendy had thought they were. Perhaps it meant he had missed her, too, despite not answering her. “People have been complaining about gold,” Tinkerbell explained, “watches and rings missing during walks. It’s those friends of his, especially the youngest ones. They haven’t been able to catch one, yet.”

Lost Boys, they called themselves, or were called, Wendy didn’t know and hoped it was the second one. They were Peter’s friends, according to Tinkerbell, boys he had met in his travels and taken with him as they had nowhere else to go. Her friend had, however, no idea where they lived at, and so Wendy was left wandering along the streets, the three gold coins – more than enough to pay the biggest bouquet in the florist’s shop – in her pocket, trying to guess where she would take up residence, were she a group of half a dozen young boys.

In the end, she didn’t found them, and they were the ones who found her. She didn’t notice at first, and then didn’t pay much attention to the feeling of being watched, observed curiously like one would an intriguing creature. What sold them was their half-muffled laughs.

Not that people hadn’t laughed at her, before, but it had been a distinctly different sound, harsher, spiteful, and condescending. On the contrary, those laughs sounded embarrassed, but more merry than mocking. So Wendy stopped walking and turning around, glimpsing three boys who looked slightly younger than her gathered in a tight group, standing before her, and two of them, brothers surely, whose legs dangled from the trees above.

“Hello?” she asked. “My name is Wendy-”

“We know,” one of the youngest looking, of the two perched on the branches, said, giggling. Wendy’s mouth opened slightly in appreciation. It must have been Peter, who told them.

“Well, it’s delightful to meet you all. Could you show me where you live? I wanted to give something back to Peter.”

Once that first question was spoken, the silence broke, and Wendy found herself introduced to the Twins, Tootles, Nibs and Fox, and then led to an old, abandoned house on the outskirts of town. Inside it was Felix, a tall boy with a scar across his face, and Curly who didn’t look older than the Twins. They showed her their living arrangements, seeming to take great pride in the poor state of the walls and the plank beds and their clothes, in a way that made Wendy’s heart squeeze in sympathy, but it wasn’t until Slightly came back that the remark Wendy had been tried to keep to herself escaped her.

“Peter is the one who names us,” was her explanation.

“I don’t recall my name from before I met him,” Curly added, speaking above Nibs’ comment that he liked his name better than the precedent.

It took a couple of hours for Peter to show up, followed by another tall boy whose name was Rufio, during which Wendy became more acquainted with each Lost Boy, as they called themselves. They mostly came from different villages, some even as far as sea-bordered ones, and had met Peter in dreadful parts of their lives and decided to follow on his adventure.

Wendy’s stomach had twisted with envy at some points in their stories, and with dread at others. They all prided themselves on their independence, their bravery and toughness, indeed, and didn’t give softer treatment even to the youngest, who were asked to behave and withstand the same as any older one, “the same as Peter!”, would.

All in all, from the little she had seen, it was a rather rough lifestyle. The boys considered themselves family, “closer than blood brothers” Nibs had said, but it didn’t prevent from scuffles to break out. Two had, while Wendy had been there, the first one to decide who would sit next to her, and the other when the Twins wanted to recount their first memory of how they met Peter, yet their versions were different from one another. She had tried to content everyone, but Fox and Curly glared at each other for the rest of the afternoon, and the Twins were now sitting as far from each other as it was possible. They didn’t go to school, dressed in rags. They stole from “rich folks” to eat and have fun, like Robinhood, but didn’t know who Robinhood was.

It was in the middle of this story that Peter found them, his eyes widening and his steps stopping when he saw her, sitting on a small stool, most of the boys surrounding her, listening with rapture, as she held Tootles’ hand and a drowsing Curly hugged her leg.

She supposed she did make for a surprising picture. They all did.

She didn’t have much opportunity to talk more to Peter, besides insisting to give his coins back to her – which turned out to be a collected effort from all the Lost Boys, despite them not knowing her at all – as night had fallen more than an hour ago and curfew was soon to be decreed.

“She has to go,” Peter repeated to Tootles and Fox’s objections.

“Why? She can stay here for the night. We have room!”

“She can stay forever with us here!” Tootles cried out. The proposition was met with cheers, but Wendy wouldn’t see Peter’s reaction from where they were both standing. “Oh, please, Wendy-lady!”

“Pretty please!”

Stay, it was preposterous. Yet Wendy couldn’t deny the idea sounded wonderful. She wished she could accept, but it was too sudden, and Peter had already insisted for her to go. “I can come back,” she offered, then, glancing at Peter to see his reaction. He had always been hard to read for outsiders, always liking too much the chance to mess with them and twist their opinions, but she had always found his eyes easy to read. Already, all the anger he had sported on the morning had disappeared, though she wasn’t sure yet if it was thanks to her or his family’s presence. “If it wouldn’t be a bother to you.”

“Oh yes! I mean no! No bother at all!”

She came back on the morrow, and then on all the days that followed. The boys came and went during the days, in no particular order, nor following any particular reason, keeping her company, chatting her ear off, or listening to everything she said, depending on who it was. There always was someone in their cabin, or joining her on a walk when they opted to go outside, in the forest or in the town.

Peter spent those days with her as well. They never got the opportunity to talk about past feelings, just the two of them, but the time spent together, back in the life of one another, was enough to mend the distance created by a last dispute followed by a three-year separation. Those days, those looks, those smiles when their eyes would meet, made Wendy felt as if all hardships and pain were behind her.

And as much as the buoyant, constant presence of boys only asking to be her friends appeased the hurt and wariness lingering in her heart, Peter’s closeness helped the most. That confidence in the future, that hopeful gleam in her eyes when she looked at herself in the mirror in the morning, that light spring in her steps, it was all him.

Even when the day came, of the first anniversary of Jane’s death, and Wendy walked to the florist’s shop with her savings as well as a silver coin coming from the boys – a compromise they had found between nothing at all and the small fortune of three golden coins – from _her boys_ , as she had started to refer to them to in the privacy of her own mind, she didn’t have an as strong urge to sob and wail as she had feared she would.

Her heart ached, and she hadn’t had that much appetite this morning, despite Tinkerbell’s effort to prepare a royal-worthy breakfast. Her voice, when she asked for the florist to pick up three of his most beautiful and colorful flowers, was tight, yet the emotion didn’t submerge her. She walked alone to the cemetery, clutching her shawl around her shoulders and holding carefully the flowers up, wishing she could have asked someone – Peter – to come with her.

But it wouldn’t have been fair of her to do so. Jane hadn’t been his daughter, although she had found herself regretting it hadn’t been the case, those past days she had spent with him and the Lost Boys. Everything would have been better, had it been Peter, that night, though perhaps not different. Children died all the time, after all, from fevers, from falls, and sometimes from inexplicable reasons no one knew.

The knowledge did nothing to prevent a lump from forming in her throat, however, as she stopped and stood before the small headstone, Jane Darling carved upon it. Children, the son of a neighbor or the sister of a classmate hadn’t been her daughter. Wendy’s shoulders shook and she sniffled as she knelt and laid the flowers where she remembered they had dug the hole.

As she made her way back to the gates, after a few minutes spent mourning, and lifted her head back up, Wendy’s steps faltered when her eyes met with ones she had thought never to meet again. Her parents were standing there, clutching at each other’s arms and looking at her with glistening eyes. Her heart started to pound within her chest, the lump in her throat grew, her eyes stung and her muscles tensed. Would they still be angry? Would they berate her again for her thoughtlessness?

Mother was the one who took the first step. A small, barely noticeable one, her arm that wasn’t hooked in Father’s reaching out toward her.

“Oh Wendy,” she said with a trembling voice. “My dear, I’m so sorry.”

Those little words, quietly murmured in the silent pathway, made Wendy’s heart ache and her breath leave her, as well as a part of the weight she had been carrying, the shame brought by seeing her parents so disappointed with her, blaming her mistake more than forgiving it, as they had so readily when she had been a child.

“We are,” Father added, taking a step as well as Wendy stood still, barely believing the words she was hearing, or the fact that her parents were here, today, back. “There was… the others and what they said and-”

“I know,” she said, her voice trembling like Mother’s had, but louder. She did, and didn’t blame anyone. There had been the neighbors, and Father worked at the bank, Mother had her friends, John and Michael needed to go to school, and then find decent jobs. “I understand.” They did what they could, just as she had.

Mother opened her arms, and Wendy rushed in them, sighing when she felt Mother’s arms wrap around her and Father’s hand pat her shoulder.

This evening, Wendy walked back to her childhood home.

The next few days were strange, her parents insisting for her to come live with them, marking the first time in her life she heard her father cuss the neighbors’ opinion at her reserve, and all of them having to learn again how to spend all their days together, while Wendy finding herself avoiding them, and their question in particular.

“What do you plan on doing?” they would ask, and Wendy had no answer.

Couldn’t her life always stay as it was now? With her parents having forgiven her, and her spending her days either mending people’s clothes in exchange for money, or with Tinkerbell, the boys, and Peter?

They had managed to find more moments just the two of them, strangely enough, ever since she had gone back to live with her parents. She had less time to spend with the boys overall – which was a pity, and the only thing Wendy would wish to change, if she could – since she had to be back every midday and every evening to help her mother cook meal for five persons. In face of the reduction of time she spent with the Lost Boys, she and Peter had dug themselves little moments, here and there. Not as much as she would have wanted, as Wendy would never fail to have new things to tell him every time they would part ways for the time being, but she told herself not to be greedy.

After all, they had all the time in the world.

In many ways, things returned as they were three years before. Their relationship was better than ever, the time spent with each other always too short, the couple of silences never awkward and her mind bubbled with things she wanted to tell him as soon as they parted for the day.

In other ways, though, things shifted, and sometimes Wendy felt as if she were twelve or fourteen years old again, when her next birthday was soon to come. Small things she thought Peter’s blatant disinterest and the three years they spent growing away from each other had erased.

More times than not, especially at night, just before she fell asleep, she struggled to remind herself that this was all hopeless. That very moment when her mind would go back to a glance they had exchanged during the day, or the particular way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, or his head tilted when he was thinking. That moment that made her unable to sleep, yet which fueled her energy for the next day as if she had slept for eleven hours straight and ate half of what she used to, Tinkerbell noticing but never commenting.

Peter was back, it was true, and as it turned out, had never shown her a blatant disinterest – on the contrary, and again she wished she knew a spell to go back in time… But Wendy didn’t want to read things that weren’t happening. Feelings come and went, and it wasn’t because Peter had admitted he had loved her, three years ago, that it was still the case today.

Even if…

Even if she couldn’t help but notice things shifting. Slightly. Imperceptibly. Until she couldn’t deny anymore that three or five years had been nothing, and that her feelings hadn’t stopped. No, they had changed, grown, strengthened, but never stopped.

She loved him.

The revelation didn’t feel like one at all, instead Wendy felt it was merely a continuation, the logical progression of her life. Not an end, not a beginning, but the next step. Her observations even told her Peter might share her feelings, though Wendy gave herself a few weeks more before she would talk to him about it.

The past day, their hands had grazed inadvertently, and she had been unable to close her eyes or stay in her bed during the previous night. She couldn’t fathom what a conversation would mean for her nerves. And this wasn’t something to trifle with.

When Peter gestured for her to follow him, the morning of her birthday, however, her heart and head forewent all patience and caution, and she walked with him outside, until he found a tree he liked and leaned against it, his gaze half on her and half lost on the horizon.

“You wanted to tell me something?” she asked quietly, her heart pounding, when he didn’t say or move for a couple of minutes.

“I do,” he nodded. _I love you, Wendy Darling, just as I always have. Let’s leave together, all of us, and live the life we dreamt about when we were children._ “We’re leaving.”

For a second, Wendy waited for the rest. For the _I love you_ that preceded, and for the _together_ that should follow. But they never came.

She made a chocking sound, and she was sure it was the sound of her heart breaking. “Leaving?” No, no, it was impossible. Had she fooled herself to that extent? “Already?”

Peter shrugged, but still didn’t look at her. “We never planned to stay long. I didn’t even want to come here in the first place.” A low, curt, chocked sound spilled past Wendy’s lips. Before she could get her wind back, Peter finished plunging the sharp words in her heart, throwing her new and precious world out of its axis. “There’s nothing keeping us here.”

The taste was bitter in her mouth, grimace-deserving, more suiting to the taste of reality as she had known it. “Nothing,” she repeated, toneless and no louder than a breath.

What about me? She wanted to ask. But, suddenly, she was scared of the answer. Peter wanted to leave, Peter didn’t consider her presence was a good enough reason to stay, Peter didn’t think she could come with them, with him. He didn’t want her to. Those were her answer.

Just as the first time he had left had been an answer in itself.

“Nothing, no,” he confirmed. Through her dry eyes, too thrown aback to cry, Wendy saw his head cock to one side as he threw her a long glance. “You went back to live with your parents.”

The abrupt change of subject felt both like a blessing and a curse, and Wendy blinked slowly, trying to make sense of Peter’s trail of thoughts. “What?”

“You went back to live with your parents. What else is that supposed to mean? It’s clear.” Frowning, she shook her head. He wasn’t making any sense. “And… the boys, they miss you. They used to like you a lot, but you’re never here anymore. I’ve tried to explain it to them, but the concept of parents, it’s not something we’re familiar with.”

Plenty of things bothered her, but Wendy settled to focus her attention on the less painful one. A spark of hope lightening in her belly at the thought of sort things out and perhaps allow them to stay a while longer. Enough for her to have a chance, perhaps.

“I wish I were with you more, you know,” she confessed, choosing to turn her eyes to the half-frozen leaves on the ground rather than on Peter’s reactions. “I wish we all lived together, that would make things easier. I miss the boys,” you, you most of all, though she kept this silent as well, “as well.”

Peter’s feet appeared in her field of vision. “You wish we’d all live together… you and us and your parents?”

“Oh no! Not with my parents.” The picture itself made her chuckle, and scrunch her nose a little. It also made her look up, to Peter’s genuinely surprised features, as if he had expected it to be her dearest wish.

He couldn’t expect her to want him to live with her brothers and her parents, couldn’t he? Was it what he wanted? It didn’t make any sense.

“Don’t you love them anymore? Two weeks ago, you kept saying how much you regretted how things happened, with them, for Lockridge. You kept saying you wanted everything to go back the way it used to be. You kept saying you wanted them to forgive you and take you back.”

“I did, it’s true. But not forever.” While it was also true that less than two weeks was nothing like forever, Wendy certainly felt like a large chunk of forever had happened since that day Father and Mother had talked to her. “I do love them, and I always will. But it doesn’t mean I want to stay with them longer than I’ll have to. Not that anything bad is happening,” she hurried to add, raising a palm up, when he furrowed his brows and opened his mouth, worry clear on his face, “it’s only the way things are. I suppose I’m too used to live without them, now, and it’s harder than I expected to comply to their rules. I’ll leave the house, without any hesitation, when someone’ll ask me to.”

“Did someone ask?”

Wendy’s heart, which had already lost some of its ache at Peter’s genuine surprise and then his worry, soared even more at the question. “No,” she said softly, “no one did.”

“Good.” Peter shuffled closer again, until Wendy’s hand could reach him if she wished so. He said nothing for a long time, but his eyes never lost their far-off look, the one he wore when he had something to say, and Wendy waited for it, with bated breath and pounding heart. “Wendy. Do you remember when we used to talk about leaving town together and go on adventures?”

Her smile widened. “I do.”

They spent a couple of minutes reminding themselves of all their shared plans and dreams, Peter joining her when she went to sit down on a fallen trunk, sitting so close to her that their shoulders brushed with ever large breath they took. Wendy took plenty, at first, before she dropped her caution and leaned against him.

Those were fond memories. As they unfolded them, they both added small changes and little twists. Peter had spent the last three years traveling from villages to villages, and knew for example that their past idea to stuff themselves with wild strawberries during the journeys wasn’t viable, and that making provisions and perhaps learning magic were smart ideas. Wendy added that, since Tootles, the Twins or Curly didn’t look older than ten years old, it would be nice to find a teacher, to travel with them at all time, to teach them to read and write with more regularity than once in a blue moon. Little by little, the dream grew before them, turning more concrete by the word, like an open book they could jump into.

She wished it wasn’t too late for her to join him there.

However, they reached the moment Wendy had been silently dreading, and Peter’s smile dimmed, his back straightened.

But when he spoke, his voice was soft. “I was going to ask you, that day. To come with me, and do what we always said we’d do.”

“I wish I could’ve said yes. I would have, had… I known.”

“I never wanted to go without you, Wendy,” Peter said, turning his eyes back into hers. Wendy willed herself to hold his gaze for a couple of seconds, her face warming up, before she averted them to her lap, her smile widening even more when she saw his hand falter. “You were always part of all my dreams.”

“You were always part of mine, too. Even when you were away, I never stopped thinking of you.” She sighed. “I wish you had told me all that earlier.” She stopped and licked her lips. “I wish _I_ had told you earlier.”

It would have changed her life a lot, this was beyond doubt.

Peter nodded. “We’re telling them now.” She nodded as well. “And… I’m asking you now. Do you want to come with us? Because it’s great. I mean, it’s better than we imagined, travelling. Never boring. We could learn magic. There’s plenty of places I want to show you. If we take a boat north, we could even see mermaids in the sea, and there’s an Indian’s camp further north. And the boys are nice. Sometimes we fight, yes, but it’s never serious. And they like you. A lot.”

“They wouldn’t mind me coming with you?”

“No! As I said, they like you. So that means you’ll come?”

“Of course!” Her knees were bouncing with her sudden rush of excitement and her smile was making her cheeks ache with joy and relief, as she began to babble about all the things she needed to do, now that she was leaving. Privately, her mind reeled until her gaze blurred at the knowledge that she was leaving with him, this time. “Oh, do you think I’ll need many bags? I’ll have to ask Mother for her supply of thread, too.”

She made a move to stand up, intending to get on with her growing pile of things to do as soon as possible, as the sooner she would, the sooner she would leave with Peter, when his hand wrapped around her wrist and he pulled her back down next to him.

Her words died abruptly in her mouth as soon as she felt the warmth moving from her wrist to her hand and their fingers entwined as if of their own volition. It had been so long since Peter held her hand. He used to do it a lot, to her great – but private – delight. His palm, now, felt even larger than it had, rougher and warmer as well. His fingernails, however, were still as dirty as always and, when she lifted her eyes back to his face, she saw his eyes hadn’t changed one bit. The mix left Wendy’s words twirled into a knot in her throat.

“Wait. There’s something else,” yes! “I want to tell y- What happened to the ‘I can’t read your mind, Peter’?”

It took a couple of seconds for Wendy to make sense of his raised brow and interruption and to stop her nodding. “Sorry,” she apologized, leaning slightly forward, her voice breathy, eyes wide and smile just as much, all of which combined probably gave her a wild look. Peter however was sporting an as large one, so it quelled any care that might remain. “I’m listening.”

Contrary to her word, Peter’s following warnings blurred together under her strain to remain immobile except for her hand, which tight grip probably hurt his though he made no move to take it away. Her mind only caught on the words, those ones she had waited for longer and with more consistency than she had realized, _I love you, darling, maybe even more than I did three years ago_.

I love you, darling.

He used to call her that, from time to time, and she had thought it was merely him uncommonly using her last name to address her, but perhaps this was one of the numerous she had missed, or taken for something it wasn’t.

The past didn’t matter anymore, though. He loved her, she loved him, now she wanted to kiss him.

When her mind came slightly back down from all the glee that single sentence and that single boy had the capacity of pouring in her veins, Peter was still talking about the warnings. “It’s only fair to you. And I know you’re not my… and yes, I know what you think, maybe you won’t be just now, but you’re the only one I’ve ever loved, and-”

“You only have to ask, Peter.”

His eyes widened slightly as she slipped her other hand between their entwined ones. “ _I_ only have to ask?”

The emphasis made her smile as well. “You only have to ask, yes.”

Peter moved closer, then, his free hand coming to stroke along her hair, down to the tip of her single braid, stopping just millimeters shy of her lips, making them tingling already as if they had had just kissed for the past hour. “You’ll be mine, then?” he asked, lightening a fire in Wendy’s entire body.

“I already am,” she whispered back as she tilted her head slightly. They both moved forward at the same time and crossed the last remnant of distance between them.

True, it wasn’t her first kiss, and true as well, it wasn’t even their first kiss. But all previous ones disappeared from Wendy’s mind as soon as their lips touched and her eyes fluttered close.

She was home.

**Author's Note:**

> ... And they left the village the following day to live the biggest adventure of all, until they grew old together or found a way to fly to a magical island :)
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this long one-shot!


End file.
